


Something I Need

by clarinetchica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarinetchica/pseuds/clarinetchica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has something rather embarrassing he asks of Molly. She sends him home to ask the person he's in love with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something I Need

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to MapleLeafCameo who prompted me with: New strong BAMF Molly slapping him…and he enjoys it. 
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to MrsNoggin for being a fantastic beta.

Sherlock saw the slap coming and didn’t bother to stop it. _Couldn’t_ be bothered to stop it. He was coming down from his high and the release of the drugs had left a hole inside him. So he had let Molly slap him. It couldn’t be worse that what he was feeling anyway.

He heard her and John talking, but had no idea what they were saying. He was focused on the feeling of Molly’s hand against his cheek.  He had been hit before, but never like that. And it had never brought on the arousal he was experiencing. This was interesting information, something he would have to explore when he was alone and had time to sit and think. He filed the fact in his mind, and returned his focus back to the two people shouting at him.

<><><><><> 

Sherlock knocked apprehensively against the door. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, waiting for Molly.

“Sherlock?” she said, surprise in her voice.

“Hello, Molly. May I come in?”

She stood to one side, allowing Sherlock to enter. He sat on the couch, fiddling with his hands while he waited for her to lock up.

“What’s going on? You never stop by,” Molly asked with a combination of curiosity and suspicion. 

“I have something rather embarrassing I need to discuss with you.”      

“Yes?” she prompted after he was silent for a few minutes. She had never seen him this uncertain before and it worried her. He didn’t usually have such apprehension about asking questions.

Sherlock looked away, “I would like you to slap me again.”

“What?” she squeaked.

“You heard me,” he said sullenly, “It’s a simple request.”

“Is this an experiment?”

Sherlock stood, prowling around Molly’s living room. “I can’t get the feeling of your hand on me out of my head. It is very distracting,” he admitted.

“Is this an experiment?” Molly repeated, saying each word carefully.   

“No, this is me asking you for another favour.”  He sat down again, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. “Please.”

“Oh Sherlock,” Molly said sadly, “You may want this, but I can’t give it to you.  Maybe before all this happened it would be different, but I respect myself too much for you to simply use me.  Go home and ask the person you’re in love with.”

“That I’m in love with?” he asked, confusion apparent on his face.

“Think, just go home and think. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

<><><><><> 

John walked into the living room, stopping short at the riding crop lying across his chair. “Sherlock?” he called, wondering if he was in some sort of bizarre dream.

“John,” he said from the doorway to the kitchen, “I have something I need to ask you.  Please don’t laugh.”  

John raised his eyebrows, waiting patiently for him to explain.  He stared at Sherlock, confused; the detective had never asked him not to laugh before.

“I would like you to…” he trailed off, swallowing nervously. “It has come to my attention that I seem to enjoy some, um, rough play.”

John swallowed, staring at his flatmate, “Excuse me?” His voice came out higher than he would have liked.

“Would you… would you be willing to indulge me?”

“Sherlock, I’m not gay.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am aware that you have a sexual interest in me.  Earlier this week, you stimulated yourself whilst thinking of me.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

Sherlock gave him a look that showed his disbelief at the John’s inability to realise that of course Sherlock would have figured it out. “Really, John. You took a rather long shower on Monday, and when you emerged you wouldn’t meet my eyes.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.”

“Oh,” John said, completely mortified.

“Well, will you oblige me?”

John thought for a moment before realising that he already knew the answer.  He had never actually thought that he would have to make this decision, but he in actuality he had made it a long time ago.

“Oh God, yes.”

Sherlock smiled shyly, “Good.”

“How do you want to do this?”

“I believe it would best to leave the specifics in your hands.  You have performed some basic BDSM in previous relationships.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose, “Do you know everything about my sex life?”

“No, I still haven’t figured out the specifics of how you earned that ridiculous nickname ‘Three Continents Watson.””

John briefly wondered what he had gotten himself into. “Right. Well, I have to go out if we really are going to do this.”

“No, you don’t. I believe I have procured everything that you will need.”

“So you just assumed I would accept your offer.” John thought he should have been offended that his acceptance had been taken for granted, but he had come to expect that with Sherlock.

“I simply wanted to be prepared.”

“Ah, of course you did,” John said, stepping closer to Sherlock.  “Why did you ask me?”

“I told you.  You have a sexual interest in me.”

“You did tell me that. What do _you_ want, thought?”

“You,” Sherlock said quietly, “I want you.”

“Good.”  John placed a gentle hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck, drawing his head down. The slight brush of their lips sent a shiver through John’s body; he had fantasised about this moment for months. The kiss was almost chaste, a slight caress that left John wanting more, but he knew they had to make some decisions before they continued.

“You need a safe word.”

“Mitochondria,” Sherlock said immediately. John burst out laughing, making Sherlock pout.

“It’s perfect,” John kissed the tip of his nose, “So you’ve, ah, thought of this?”

“Occasionally.”

John swallowed, anticipation flooding his veins. “If we are going to do this, we need to set down some ground rules.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked, curiosity peeking through his petulance.

“I have to know what you want and what you don’t want. Is this a one-time thing? What are you looking for?”

“Oh,” Sherlock sat on the couch, waiting a moment before continuing. “I have never been in a relationship before, so I’m not sure exactly what I am looking for.”

“Are you a virgin?” John asked bluntly.

“No,” Sherlock responded, “But I have only engaged in what they call ‘vanilla’ sex. And I have never had sex with the same person twice.”

“Penetration?” The question was out of his mouth before he realised what he was asking.

“I have never engaged in penetration, however I am not averse to the idea.”

“Sherlock, I want you to _want_ this, not just tolerate it.”

“I _do_ want it, John.”

“Right, good,” his tongue darted out, wetting his lips in a nervous gesture. “So, ground

rules.”

<><><><><> 

John rifled through the bags at the foot of Sherlock’s bed.

“You certainly were thorough when you went shopping,” he trailed off, sifting through the things Sherlock had purchased.

“The woman at the store was most helpful. I wanted to make sure we had everything we might need,” he explained, perching on the side of the bed.

“Yes, well, are you ready to get started?” John asked awkwardly. This whole situation was incredibly bizarre, and if he weren’t ridiculously turned on by the idea of Sherlock laid bare before him, he would have walked away. As it was, he was already half-hard, and they hadn’t even started yet.

Sherlock reached toward John, hands resting on his shoulders as he brushed their lips together. A shiver ran through his body as Sherlock explored his mouth, sweeping a tongue tentatively along the inside of his lower lip.  He finally broke away, lips wandering slowly down Sherlock’s neck.  Pressing a wet kiss to the hollow of his throat, John climbed onto his lap. The genius tasted musky and sweet, a unique combination that was completely Sherlock. John tangled his tongue around Sherlock’s, hands threading through his unruly curls.

Fingers reached to pop each button of Sherlock’s shirt, slowly exposing alabaster skin. Sliding the shirt from his shoulders, John bore him down to the mattress before reaching over to the bag still sitting at the end of the bed.

“I need you to shift,” John said, directing him toward the headboard.  He pulled two cuffs out, threading one around each thin wrist, securing the other end to the bed.

“Pull,” he ordered, and Sherlock obeyed, tugging against the restraints. “Does it hurt?”

Sherlock shook his head no. John smiled, fingers dancing along Sherlock’s chest.  He arched up into the contact, biting his lip.  John swept his hands lower, tracing along the line of Sherlock’s trousers. Sliding the zip down, he gently guided them off, leaving him completely bare. John took a minute to appreciate the sight before him, fixing it in his mind.  He certainly hoped he would get to do this again, but one never knew with Sherlock.

“Eyes on me,” John ordered, hands reaching toward the hem of his cream jumper.  He slowly pulled the garment over his head, his t-shirt following quickly. John realised Sherlock had closed his eyes, and he leaned over, smacking him on his thigh.  His eyes flew open.         

“I said eyes on me,” John asserted.

“Yes,” he panted.

“Yes…” John let the word hang there, waiting for Sherlock to complete the phrase.

“Yes, sir.”

John caught his gaze, the irises of Sherlock’s eyes almost completely blocked by his dilated pupils. His fingers found the fly of his own jeans, slowly sliding the zip down.  Sherlock licked his lips as John wriggled his hips, letting his trousers slide to the floor. He stood in only his pants, the thin cotton doing very little to hide his own arousal.

“I want to see you, sir” Sherlock said, swallowing thickly.

“Is that so?” John smirked.

“Please?”

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“John,” Sherlock’s voice had dropped, sending a shiver through John, “Please.  I _need_ to see your cock.”

“Hmm?” John bent over, teasing Sherlock while he located the riding crop that had started this whole thing. Sherlock let out a strangled noise and John shimmied out of his pants, still half bent. He turned around, and Sherlock let out a small “oh.” 

“I knew you were well endowed, but I never expected that,” Sherlock said, staring at John’s erection.

John just smiled.  He trailed the flat tip up one leg and down the other, tickling Sherlock. _Smack_ , John hit the top of his thigh. A moan escaped the younger man.

“Like that, do you?” John hit his other leg, Sherlock’s cock twitching with every blow. John crawled onto the bed, straddling Sherlock’s thighs.  He leaned down, pulling Sherlock’s lower lip between his teeth. Sherlock threw his head back, and John took the invitation, pressing light kisses down his jaw, down his glorious neck, sweeping across a collarbone. John sucked his skin sharply, placing a gentle kiss against the forming bruises.  Again and again he marked him - on his neck, the expanse of his torso, the crook of his elbow.  Sherlock squirmed as much as he restraints allowed, arching up into John’s mouth.

“Tell me,” John ordered, pressing a kiss to crease of his hip, “Tell me what you want.”

“More,” he pleaded, “I want everything.”

John reached down, pulling Sherlock’s knees up so his feet were flat against the mattress.  John again rifled through the bag, flipping open a tube and squeezing lube onto his hand. He pulled one of Sherlock’s legs over his good shoulder, angling the detective’s hips to allow access.  Without warming the lube, he teased the firm ring of muscle of his entrance, Sherlock hissing at the cold.  John massaged, gently pressing a finger in.

“Relax,” he murmured, “Just breathe.” John slowly moved, one finger turning to two, turning to three.  His thumb brushed against Sherlock’s perineum every so often, making him whimper. When John finally crooked his finger to expertly find his prostate, he stiffened, crying out.

John grinned, loving Sherlock’s reaction. The ability to reduce the detective to an incoherent mess was intoxicating.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, “Come undone for me.” Sherlock answered by rocking back on to John’s hand, drawing it further in. 

John gradually removed his finger, turning to grab the plug he had removed from Sherlock’s ridiculous bag of toys. He let out a sob as John covered it in lube and pushed it in slowly, twisting to allow Sherlock to adjust to the width.

“There we go, love,” John sat back, admiring his handiwork.

Frankly, he was surprised that Sherlock had stayed in the position John had placed him in.  The blue of the plug stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin. John bit his lip, memorizing the sight before him. A fine sheen of sweat covered Sherlock’s skin, his cheeks flushed, his breath coming quickly.  He squirmed slightly as he as he became accustom to the feeling of the plug.

“Please,” Sherlock begged, “Please touch me. I need you to touch me.”

 _Smack_. John slapped Sherlock’s inner thigh. “The more you beg, the longer I will wait.”  He trailed fingers up Sherlock’s cock, smiling as he bucked, pulling against the restraints.  Hearing Sherlock beg for anything was intoxicating, and John resolved to make it happen frequently. He brought his attention back to the man before him, smiling to himself.  He wondered how much longer he could make this last.

“Please…”

 _Smack_ , this time on his cheek.  John drank in the sight of Sherlock, the spectacular bruises forming on his torso, the flush of arousal, and the dark reddish-purple head of Sherlock’s cock glistening with precome.

“Listen to me carefully.  If you don’t follow my directions, I will walk out of this bedroom and leave you here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am going to release your restraints. Flip over, and keep your lovely arse in the air.”  John reached up, undoing the restraints. Sherlock turned face-down, laying flat on the mattress.

“I said arse in the air,” John smacked Sherlock with his hand.

Sherlock obeyed, and John reached over to secure the straps around his wrists once more.  He retrieved the riding crop, gently running it over Sherlock’s beautifully curved behind. Suddenly, the crop flicked, Sherlock moaning with each _crack._ Red stained his pale skin, and John replaced the crop with his hand, letting it fly a few more times to remind Sherlock who was in charge.

John reached down to grip the plug, pulling it out gingerly.  Sherlock whimpered, pushing down onto John’s hand.  John shifted, lined up his cock with Sherlock’s hole and pushed, inching slowly inside. He pulled out slightly, rocking forward and hitting his prostate with every other thrust. 

 “You are not allowed to come until I give you permission,” John ordered, and Sherlock moaned. Each snap of his hips drove him into Sherlock, the room filling with the slap of skin on skin, John’s grunts and Sherlock’s soft cries.  He felt the slow burn of his approaching orgasm and he reached around, his hand tugging on Sherlock’s cock.

“Go ahead,” John said, and Sherlock came violently, crying out so loudly that John wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole street had heard.  One, two, three more thrusts and he followed with the most spectacular orgasm of his life- he was pretty sure he actually saw stars as the edges of his vision blacked. The two men collapsed against the bed, John still inside Sherlock.  He pressed gentle kisses to the back of the younger man’s shoulder, coaxing him reassuringly down from the endorphin high. Finally, John gathered the energy to roll off Sherlock, sliding out slowly.  Sherlock made a disappointed noise, flinching at the sudden emptiness.

Standing up, John released the cuffs and reached a hand out to help Sherlock up. He took the offered hand, levering himself off the bed, wincing. John could see his come dribbling down from Sherlock’s arse. A strange sense of pride at making the genius lose control surged through him.

“Come on, then, let’s get you in the shower,” John tugged on Sherlock’s hand.

“Wait, where does this leave us?” Sherlock stopped, seemingly unaware of how utterly debauched he looked. The combination of mussed hair, the bruises decorating his body and the unmistakable musk of sex made John want to make him beg all over again.

“Well, I can certainly think of other things we can try,” John glanced over at Sherlock, smiling.

“So we can do this again?” Sherlock looked hopeful.

“Yes, we certainly can do this again.”

“John, you should know, I’ve never been in a relationship before,” Sherlock looked panicked for a moment, “I didn’t mean to… to assume.”

“It’s about time you learned, then,” John smiled, pushing Sherlock toward the shower. “We’ll figure this out later, though. Right now, I just need to get clean and pass out.”

“Together?”

“Together.”


End file.
